wherever there is you, i will be there too
by warugiriia
Summary: as we drive past the "welcome to arcadia bay" sign, i have a feeling that this is the last time i will ever see this town. [post bae bay ending. pricefield / max/chloe]


_A/N: the title is from the song 'silhouettes' by of monsters and men. also max may be a little ooc in this, but i (sort of) know what i'm doin' ,, anyway **please** feel free to leave any reviews / comments , and I hope y'all enjoy the story !_

* * *

 **day one**

the sky is blue, bluer than it should have the right to be. it is a beautiful day, especially beautiful, considering this is the aftermath of a huge storm. my storm.

i look out at the demolished town as you drive, neither of us saying a word. i think of all the death, all the destruction, that i have brought onto this town, all because i'd gotten it into my head to play god. i am paying the price for it, and god, the price is a fucking bitch.

you reach over and hold my hand, and your hand is warm and gentle, but i can't bring myself to lace my fingers with yours.

in my head, i begin to list out the names of people i'd gotten to know and care for, their bodies buried underneath rubble or lying in the street. warren graham. kate marsh. joyce price. david madden. nathan prescott. hell, even victoria fucking chase, the rivalry we shared once the worst thing in the world. all gone.

as we drive past the "welcome to arcadia bay" sign, i have a feeling that this is the last time i will ever see this town.

* * *

we've been driving for hours. you pull up at a gas station to get gas and buy us some food, while i sit in the car alone, my head resting against the window.

when you return, you have a some sandwiches and bottles of water in your hands. you offer me a sandwich. i shake my head.

"you have to eat something, max," you say to me. i don't respond. i hear you sigh softly.

"if you get hungry later, just let me know," you say, tossing the food in the back. i notice you aren't eating either. you uncap one of the water bottles and take a sip.

"you should at least drink some water," you say. i take the bottle without looking at you, taking a gulp of water. the water is cool and soothing, and before you know it i've drunk half a bottle already.

you smile at me. "slow down there. that's a hella lot of water." you force a laugh, but it fades away almost instantly. you look uncertain for a moment.

"get some rest," you say. you turn back onto the freeway.

"where are we going?" i ask. it's the first time i've spoken since we left the town.

"i don't know," you reply. you glance over at me. "but i don't care, so long as we'll be together."

i smile, a tiny, almost unnoticeable twist of my lips. you catch it, and you smile too. i close my eyes, and let sleep wash over me.

* * *

i thought that i'd seen the last of the town when we drove away. i was wrong. i saw it when i closed my eyes.

the dream begins with me strapped to a chair in the dark room, mark jefferson standing over me with a smile on his face. he is saying something, but i cannot hear him, because his voice is twisted and echoing off the walls.

he turns and walks away, and that's when i notice you on the couch. i scream your name, just in time to see jefferson grab you roughly by the ear and put a bullet in your brain.

the dream shifts.

i am standing on the cliff where i chose to save you, watching the tornado approach. behind me, there are voices.

"why did you do it, max?" it's victoria chase, her voice bitchy as always. she is standing with half her head crushed. i can see her skull, and blood is dripping down her face. she steps closer to me.

i know fully well what she's talking about. i attempt to stutter an excuse, walking backwards, when i feel someone standing behind me.

"you saved me, max." it's kate marsh, and her voice is as gentle as i remember it. her arms are wrapped around me. "you promised you'd be there for me." her hands leave bloody imprints on my shirt. "so why did you do it? why did you kill me?"

"no, please, it's not like that," i plead, trying to turn to see her. instead, i find warren graham standing beside me. he is hunched over at a grotesque angle, probably due to spinal damage. his head is down, his brown hair sticky with blood.

"you were my friend, max." he sounds hurt. "you were my friend, and you let me die." he looks up at me, and where his eyes should be, there are empty sockets.

i scream, and stumble backwards.

"max." this time it is joyce and david, both with their own fatal injuries. "why the fuck did you cause that tornado?" david asks me, sounding disappointed.

"no, i'm sorry, please," i beg, shuffling backwards as all of you close in on me.

"goodbye, max," kate whispers in my ear. suddenly, i am on the roof of the blackwell academy building where she tried to take her own life.

kate shoves me off the edge, and i scream the whole way down.

i awaken with a gasp.

"what's wrong?" you ask, pulling over abruptly and turning to face me. my chest is rising and falling rapidly as i attempt to catch my breath.

"bad dream," i mutter, pushing my brown hair out of my forehead.

your mouth tightens. "want to talk about it?" you ask gently.

i shake my head.

"you want to get some rest? i can take over for a bit," i offer. there's no way i'm going back to sleep tonight, so i may as well drive.

"yeah, that sounds good. thanks, max." we get off the car and switch places. within minutes after i turn back onto the road, you are fast asleep.

as i drive off into the night, i listen to the soft, reassuring sound of your breathing, and i think to myself, this is the sound i sacrificed an entire town for.

* * *

 **day two**

i start to tire around dawn. i park at a rest stop, and drain the last drops of water in my bottle. my stomach is rumbling, so i grab one of the sandwiches you'd put in the backseat, eating without tasting it.

i've never been a particularly emotional or melodramatic person. i had my problems, sure, minor as they were, but i never really dwelt on them for long. but god, how do you come back from killing an entire town?

i hear you stir. i'd draped my jacket on your bare shoulders while you were asleep so you wouldn't get cold. you rub the sleep from your eyes and yawn, my jacket sliding onto your lap.

"hey," you murmur to me.

"hey," i reply. i offer you a sandwich. you take one and bite into it ravenously. i realise just then that you'd been sleeping soundly the whole night. you didn't jolt awake abruptly, or shudder, or whimper in your sleep. that's good. it's bad enough that one of us is haunted by ghosts.

admittedly, they are only ghosts because of the choice i made. which makes sense that they'd haunt me.

we eat in silence for a while. you offer to get down to replenish our supplies. i almost smile at how dorky you sound. while you're gone, i climb back into the passenger seat, faint remnants of warmth from your body still lingering.

you slide into the driver's seat and add a few bottles of water to our small stash of food. neither of us has been eating much, so all we need is more water.

"here." you pull something out of your pocket. it's a lollipop. i look at you questioningly. you shrug.

"i thought some candy might cheer you up a little," you say. i do smile this time, a grateful one.

"thanks, chloe." i unwrap the sweet and stuff it in my mouth as you get us back on the road. i fall asleep shortly after i finish it.

* * *

in this dream, i am back in jefferson's photography class. everyone has awful, massive wounds weeping crimson blood, only nobody seems to notice. victoria raises her hand to answer a question, and her arm is bent at an unnatural angle, clearly broken.

i look down at my hands, and they are bright red with fresh, sticky blood. i try to scrub them clean, but nothing happens.

"max." it's jefferson's voice, calling me from the front of the class. his skull is dented and his shirt is matted with blood. "victoria just asked you a question."

i turn to face victoria, who is giving me her usual queen bee glare. it isn't quite the same, since a large chunk of flesh of her face is gone. her left eye is falling out of place.

"i said, was it worth it, max? all of this?" she gestures to her ruined face. her remaning eye meets mine, and vaguely in this weird dreamland of mine i realise that she had very nice brown eyes. i'd never really registered it, really, and it suddenly hits me that i'd never get a chance to look into those eyes and truly get over the rivalry with the person they belonged to.

her voice echoes in my head.

 _was it worth it, max?_

* * *

"max." you shake me awake, and i open my eyes blearily. we have stopped at a small motel in some small town whose name i don't know.

"i figured we can't just keep driving every night, and i had some cash in the glove compartment, so i thought i'd get us a room," you explain. "i meant to use it to get out of arcadia bay someday, and i guess i finally did."

i notice that you've draped my jacket across my shoulders while i slept. i get out of the car and tie it around my waist.

you take all the food out of the back and stuff it into a large plastic bag, which i'm guessing you also had stashed in there. together, we head down to the motel office, where the receptionist is a middle-aged woman with kind brown eyes and greying hair, and we manage to book our room in 10 minutes.

the room is small but cosy, the bathroom clean and supplied with decent toiletries. there is a tiny writing desk and some paper, as well as a bulky tv facing the bed. the wallpaper is peeling and the carpet looks a little tattered and there is only one bed, but overall the room is pretty great.

you offer to let me shower first, and i accept. i strip off my clothes (which are starting to smell, since i've worn them for 2 days straight), and i dump them in a corner of the bathroom. i contemplate sleeping in my underwear for a moment, before i decide to ask you for help.

"chloe?" i call.

"yeah?" you are right outside the door in an instant.

"could you drive down to town and get me some new clothes?"

"shit, i forgot about that earlier. be right back."

i hear the door slam, and i am now alone in the room.

i get into the shower, letting the hot water sear my skin and wash away the grime of travel and the grease in my hair and hoping irrationally that it will clean my conscience too.

almost 30 minutes later, i emerge from the bathroom wearing a warm, fluffy robe, my hair damp and my teeth clean. i hear the door open and i see you holding a few plastic bags full of stuff.

you shut the door and toss one to me. i head back into the bathroom and rifle through the clothes, noticing that you took extra care to buy me t-shirts with does or butterflies on them. i pull on a white t-shirt with a blue butterfly smack in the middle, because isn't a blue butterfly what got me into this mess in the first place?

i also change into some clean underwear and pajama shorts, and i bundle up my dirty clothes, making a mental note to use the laundry machine tomorrow.

while it is your turn to rinse away the dirt of our trip, i sort through tv channels idly, watching a soap opera for a while till i lose interest. i continue to rifle through the channels until i find a news channel with the headline, "town destroyed by freak tornado, 0 survivors found." my heart clenches.

i tune out the newsanchor's babbling about the weird weather and explanations on the factors causing this disaster, because all i can see is the bodies being dragged out by people i don't know, and i realise i recognize a few of them.

the homeless lady who lived behind the diner. a cop who once gave me a ride home. the man who worked at the pet store. a student who used to sell gum from his locker. kate's sister.

"turn it off, max."

you emerge from the bathroom, wearing a loose-fitting tank top and shorts, your short blue hair dripping wet, a towel draped around your neck. you climb into the bed, sitting next to me. i turn it off, and i rub my temples tiredly. you wrap your arm around me comfortingly.

"thank you, max," you say softly, resting your cheek against my head, droplets of water landing on my shoulder.

"thank you for saving me."

but that wasn't exactly what i did. i didn't save you, i chose you.

you were my number one priority, and you will always be my number one priority, and i will always choose you over anything else, no matter the price i have to pay.

you hold me tight while i cry silently in your arms. finally, you suggest we go to sleep, and i agree. you turn off the lights and climb in next to me, draping an arm around me and holding me close.

your arms don't protect me from the dreams. i wake up in a cold sweat, shaking and breathing raggedly, choking on my sobs. you pull me into your chest and tell me over and over that everything will be okay, until i stop crying and my breathing is back to normal, and i fall asleep again, and this time i dream of nothing.

* * *

 **day three**

when i wake up, i can almost imagine we are back at your house, the morning after we broke into blackwell and had a swim. i'm pretty sure i still have that photo we took together.

carefully, i disentangle myself from you and climb out of bed. i take a moment to look at you. your breathing is even, your lips slightly parted, your blue hair falling into your face. you look so peaceful. i feel like i've never told you this, but you may be the most beautiful person in the world.

i lift out my camera, my heart twisting, and i set it down. i don't know if i'll ever be able to look at it the same way again. i dig around my bag for a little bit, and then i find the photo, half-crushed underneath my stuff. i study it for a while.

things were so different then. rachel amber was still alive, only missing. mark jefferson was a good person. and i hadn't destroyed an entire town.

you and i looked so happy. your blue eyes crinkling as you grinned. my face twisted in a huge smile. i wonder if i'll ever smile like that again.

for a moment, i contemplate reaching into the photo and jumping back in time. i recoil at the thought, horrified. the photo flutters from my hand and lands on the floor.

i stare at it, wanting to rip it to pieces but unable to bring myself to. the temptation to go back and undo what i did is haunting me.

but if i do go back, would i do things any differently?

i pick up the photo and place it on the table. i head to the bathroom to shower before you wake up.

when i emerge, the photo is gone.

* * *

we have breakfast at the motel before taking off. neither of us bring up the photo. i'm tempted to ask you where we're going, but i have a feeling you don't know either. you decide to drive, and i don't argue. about an hour after we hit the road,

"max," you say abruptly.

"yeah?" i reply.

"are you okay?" you ask.

i'm not quite sure how to answer that, so i stay silent, trying to think of a good answer.

"fuck. sorry, that was stupid. i know you can't be alright after all that happened." you sigh. "listen, i feel like shit too. it should be me who's dead, not them."

i don't say anything because that was exactly how it was supposed to go. but i couldn't let you go.

"so i just wanted you to know that. and i'm sorry," you tell me.

your gentle side that you bury underneath your punk facade is showing. i don't know what to say, i just know that i feel fucking awful, and i'm so sorry that you have to feel like that too.

"i'm sorry too," i finally say. "i'm so sorry."

i'm sorry, because you will have to live with knowledge that in order for you to live, an entire town had to die. and similarly, i have to live with knowing that i was the one who consciously made that decision.

and i'm sorry, because my selfishness and my refusal to give you up cost so many people their lives.

when i made my choice, i didn't think this far. i barely thought at all. all i knew was that there was no way in hell i was going to let you die. so i will carry these ghosts with me for the rest of my life.

 _was it worth it, max?_

* * *

we pull up at another town a few hours later. i wait in the car while you go to book us a motel room and buy a few things. it's strange to see you taking charge like this. i've gotten very used to keeping you out of trouble, so it's odd for you to be taking care of me for a change.

you return to the car with a few items, looking rather annoyed. you dump the items in the backseat before entering the driver's seat.

"motel's fully booked," you announce.

"then where are we going to stay tonight?" i ask, alarmed.

you sigh. "the owner allowed me to borrow the bathroom at her place so we can wash up, but we'll have to find somewhere else to stay."

"close enough." i offer you a weak smile, and you drive us to the owner's house on top of the hill.

around an hour later, you and i are squeaky clean and sitting in the car.

"i guess we'll be sleeping here tonight," you say.

"yep." i recline the passenger's seat while you climb into the back, transferring all our stuff to the trunk. you dig up a thin blanket somewhere and hand it to me, though i turn it down. but you won't take no for an answer, so i take it.

"goodnight, chloe."

"goodnight, max."

* * *

my nightmare this time is different. i am in a pit in the junkyard, being steadily buried alive, and every single resident of arcadia bay is taking turns shoveling dirt onto me. most of them are nameless, faceless.

they go in order of our level of acquaintance. alyssa. stella. dana. dirt. dirt. dirt.

and then finally, the people i know and love. well, knew and loved.

it always starts out the same. kate, looking sad. warren, looking hurt. victoria, looking angry. and joyce, looking... grateful.

"thank you for saving chloe, max," she tells me softly. she has the most beautiful content smile on her face as she shovels an inordinately large amount of dirt onto me, sealing me several feet underground.

* * *

 **day four**

when i open my eyes, you are gone, which is a surprise, considering the fact that you've always been a heavy sleeper. even back when we were kids, you'd probably sleep the day away if no one bothered to wake you up.

i look around for you, a little panicked. i can't help it; i worry about you too much. then i see you heading over to the car, holding some more stuff, and i relax. the morning light dances on your blue hair, lighting up your face; a cigarette is dangling from your lips casually, your blue eyes are sparkling, and in that moment you are _radiant_. i reach for my camera, wanting to capture this moment of you. but the moment passes quickly, so i put it back.

"morning, max," you say, opening the car door and entering the driver's seat after dumping most of the things in the trunk. you stub out the cigarette, and hand me a small plastic bag. it contains a notebook, multicoloured pens, glue, and a pair of scisorss.

"i remember how much you liked writing in that diary of yours, so i thought i'd get you a new one," you say. my throat closes up a little.

"thank you," i say softly. my old diary contained the best memories of the best time of my life. i don't know what i'm going to write in this one.

"no problem." your cheeks turn pink. "go get washed up, and i'll go get gas and be back to get ya."

i almost protest, but instead i nod and grab my clothes from the trunk, going to shower and get dressed, ignoring my reluctance to part ways with you.

* * *

on the road, you keep making attempts to get me to talk. i feel guilty for being so quiet, but i can't help it. the aftermath of what i've done is so fucking hard to deal with that i just sit in silence and let it wash over me because i can't bring myself to talk about it, or anything at all.

"god damn it, max," you snap suddenly, jerking me out of my thoughts.

you pull over at the side of the road and get down. hesitantly, i follow you.

"why the fuck won't you talk to me?! what was the point of saving me if you're not even going to bother fucking talking?!" you shout. i am stunned speechless.

"what?" i say finally.

"do you regret saving me or something? because god, sometimes it feels like you do. you sit around looking so fucking sad every day, and it makes me feel like shit, and you know why? because i'm glad you chose me. i lost people i loved, and i miss them every day, but i really, really don't want to fucking die, max. i owe everything to you. but if killing me would've made you happier, then you should've just let me die in that bathroom!" your blue eyes are blazing with rage, tears falling down your face that you brush away angrily.

"chloe, how could you say that?" i ask, my heart beating rapidly. the image of dream-joyce smiling sadly at me drifted into my mind.

"because i care about you, max! i know it's tough, but i don't want you to be sad forever, and i don't know how to help you, and i'm sorry, that you had to choose between me or arcadia bay." the rage drains out of you in an instant, and you deflate, sinking down onto the front of the car. you drop your head into your hands, and your shoulders shake as you cry.

i walk over to you and wrap my arms around you, and allow you to cry into my chest. you've been strong for so long, mostly for me, and god, i am so, so, sorry.

it seems that since i chose to demolish my town, all i do is feel like shit and apologise, and i deserve every bit of it, but you don't. this is on me, not you, and i am so sorry, chloe. i am so fucking sorry.

i almost wonder if choosing you was a mistake, and squash the thought immediately.

i close my eyes, holding you tighter.

"i don't regret it, chloe," i say softly, and wish i could completely believe it myself.

 _was it worth it, max?_

* * *

after your outburst, i take over driver duty, and you don't complain. you sit in the passenger's seat silently, your eyes still rimmed with red. i reach out and take your hand. hesitantly, you curl your fingers around mine. we stay that way for the rest of the drive, because i realise that you need me, just as much as i need you.

* * *

our motel room has two twin beds instead of a single queen-sized one like the last one. I insist you shower first, so you do, and while waiting, I pull out the diary you gave me. my old diary documented my old life. it's time to start my new one.

I flip it open, and reach for a pen. the ink doesn't flow as smoothly as my old pen's did, and my hand is a little shaky, but my handwriting turns out okay, albeit a little messy.

I write about the day we left, using a blue pen to sketch waves on the bottom of the page, and a butterfly in the top right corner. on the next page, I briefly describe the trip so far, drawing little rough sketches of the scenery in the corners.

I talk about you, how've you been so strong, and how you've taken care of me the entire time. and then I mention dream-victoria, glaring at me with one eye and gleaming red flesh. I sketch her eyes, narrowed in disdain, and grab a brown pen to vaguely colour it in. it's not quite right, but it'll do. I make a mental note to thank you for buying coloured pens in addition to the standard blue and black.

I flip through the pages i've filled in. they aren't as pretty as my old diary, but they have their own charm, a sort of charm that promises new beginnings and that one day, things will get better.

once I come out of the shower, wearing my pyjamas, I notice you're clad in jeans and a loose white tank top with a skull pattern on it. you shrug on your jacket, and catch me staring. you smile crookedly.

"I thought we could go out tonight," you say. "get some drinks, hit the town."

I gape at you.

"take our mind off things. have some fun," you say softly. I frown.

"c'mon, max. it'll do you some good," you beg, and I relent. I know you just want to take your mind off things. and honestly, after everything we've gone through, and your outburst today, I think we both need it, especially seeing how well you've been holding up. I change into jeans and a t-shirt, and you grin at me.

"lookin' hot," you say, and I blush.

"just one more thing." you grab a flannel shirt from your stash of clothes and hand it to me. i pull it on, even though it's a little too big.

you smile, and it is a warm, genuine smile. "you look beautiful," you say softly.

"thank you," I answer, and you hold out your hand to me. I link my fingers with yours, and together we walk out into the night.

* * *

you drive us into town and stop at a small club. vague sounds of music pound from the building. you walk up to the bouncer, whisper something in his ear, and slip him something. he nods, and you take my hand and lead me in. it is exactly as how i imagined it would be - loud , dimly lit , and jam-packed with people.

"jesus, I feel like I just bought the club with the amount of money I gave him," you mutter. catching sight of my worried look, you smile reassuringly.

"don't worry about it," you reassure me. "let's dance!"

we squeeze our way into the mess of sweaty, drunken bodies.

you close your eyes and let loose, waving your arms and swaying. I dance awkwardly, if that's what you can call shy side to side stepping and vague arm movements.

"shake that skinny white butt!" you yell at me. I burst out laughing, remembering the time i hung out at your room and you teased me with the same line.

I make myself move with the music, my dancing getting more and more relaxed by the minute.

you grab my hand and twirl me, laughing and grinning widely, sweat glistening on your forehead. your eyes are shining, your face painted various colours by the changing lights in the club. we dance until the two of us are laughing and exhausted, both of us drenched in sweat, our cheeks flushed pink.

"let's get some drinks!" you yell, and I nod. some guy tries to approach you, but you shoot him down brutally. you order a row of brightly-coloured shots, and you throw them back rapidly, laughing loudly. it is a beautiful sound, that laugh, so bright and brilliant and full of life.

"what are you waiting for, max?" you yell over the music, your eyes sparkling as the alcohol begins to kick in. I take one tentative shot and my god it tastes like a mixture of gasoline and sugar syrup.

I choke down a few more and you laugh again, dragging me back onto the dance floor. I am not exactly tipsy, but I can feel electricity surging through my veins. we spend a few more hours there dancing our hearts out until I am almost too tired to move. you have been swaying a little and dancing with random strangers, so I take that as our cue to leave.

I coax you out of the club and into the car, and I drive us back to the motel. I drag you into the room, and you promptly crash onto my bed, your boots still on. smiling to myself, I remove them and kick off my own sneakers. I decide to just sleep in your bed. with a bit of difficulty, I strip off my clothes and toss them into a pile, pulling on my pajamas and nearly falling asleep as I brush my teeth. I shuffle over and collapse onto your bed.

"max?" you mumble into my pillow.

"yes?" I respond.

"can you stay with me tonight?" you ask, stumbling over the words.

"of course, chloe." I get up and make my way over to you while you drunkenly move over to the other end. I wrap my arm around your middle and press my face into your hair. you smell like smoke and alcohol and the night.

"night, max," you slur into my pillow.

"night, chloe." I close my eyes.

"love you."

I smile.

"love you too."

I didn't have any nightmares that night.

* * *

 **day five**

in the morning, you seem to have no recollection beyond drinking and dancing. the first thing you did when you woke up was exclaim "where the fuck am I?!", push me off the bed, then wince and rub your forehead.

"sorry, max." you pull me up as I rub my eyes blearily.

"I have a killer hangover," you announce.

"but you didn't drink that much last night." I frown.

"we price women are not good at holding our liquor. besides, those things were _strong_ ," you say, yawning and turning over, pulling the covers over your head.

"I know what'll make you feel better," I say, looking around for my bag while grinning at you huddled beneath the blanket.

"what?" you mumble.

"pancakes. I saw a diner last night on the way home."

"home?" you pull the covers from your head and peer at me.

I stop, the smile fading from my face.

"well, this is home, for now, until we leave," I say quietly. you squint at me, rubbing your blue eyes.

"where are we going, chloe?" I ask.

you look at me sadly for a while. "I don't know."

I lower my eyes, and breathe slowly for a while.

"I'll go get dressed." you get up and head into the bathroom, leaving me to wonder where home is exactly.

* * *

we pack our things and go get pancakes. you order an extra large plate of scrambled eggs and drizzle maple syrup and hot sauce on them.

"seriously?" I scrunch up my face.

"it's my hangover comfort food," you say to me through a mouthful of horrible sweet-and-spicy eggs.

"it looks _terrible_." I laugh and eat my own pancakes, with a mountain of whipped cream and berries.

"rachel said the same thing," you mumble into your eggs.

"I really wish I had a chance to meet her," I say softly.

"yeah. me too."

"you really loved her, didn't you?"

"yeah. I still miss her."

I take a very long drink of orange juice and stay silent.

"thanks for helping me find her, by the way. I never got round to thanking you for that."

"you're welcome. y'know, technically she helped to bring us back together."

you smile slightly. "yeah. I never thought about it that way, actually." you push your eggs around your plate thoughtfully.

i suppress a shudder, but you notice it anyway. your eyes light up.

"hey, you should try these."

"god, _no_."

"they're good! here, I'll put some on your plate."

"chloe, _no_ , I swear to god, get those things away from me-"

the rest of the diner is looking at us weirdly, but I don't care, because the only thing I care about right now is getting your terrible eggs away from my precious pancakes.

* * *

we take off soon after. you insist on driving, so I let you, though I keep a close eye on you, just in case.

"hey, max."

"hm?"

"we should find somewhere to stay soon. I could get a job or something, and we could start a new life."

"yeah, I guess." I pause for a moment. "where are we going?'

"to the next town. it's only a couple hours away."

"no, I mean where are we _going_? what's our endgame?"

"honestly max, I... have no idea."

your brow is slightly furrowed, your eyes thoughtful.

"but it doesn't matter where we go. the only thing that matters is that we'll be together."

I reach out and link my fingers with yours.

"we'll always be together, chloe. no matter what."

* * *

in a few short hours, we pull up at the next town. I notice that we drive right past the motel, and question you about it. your lips twist into an almost sheepish smile.

"I was worried about money, so I went ahead and got us a tent and two sleeping bags a while back. remember that day we had to sleep in the car? that was the stuff I got," you explain.

"looks like we'll have to settle down soon," I say.

"yeah, I guess. but not here, not yet." you look around.

"not yet," you repeat softly. we drive up to a much shabbier motel, where you cajole the grumpy old receptionist into allowing us to borrow the washrooms at the place. he allows us 15 minutes each, so I take what feels like the fastest shower of my life, and dash out with my hair still dripping wet. I thank the receptionist, and for a moment there I swear he smiles.

you are already in the car, so we drive away to a nearby field, where we spend half an hour figuring out how to set up a tent.

"my mom always told me I should've joined the girl scouts. guess she was right," you say, once we finally finish.

I laugh, and we unfurl our sleeping bags inside the tiny tent. it is rather uncomfortable.

"man, this sucks major ass," you say.

I grin. "I wish we could see the stars from here. it wouldn't be so bad if we could."

"why not?" you ask.

we ditch the tent and drag our sleeping bags out, and lie down side by side. the town is rather dark, so we get to see the stars more clearly. they look down on us almost benevolently.

silently, I ask them if I will ever be forgiven for the choice I have made.

you must've noticed something about my expression, because you rest your hand on mine comfortingly. you smile, and so do I.

"g'night, Max."

"night, Chloe."

* * *

I dreamed that I was at your funeral. the whole town was there, even my classmates from Blackwell. Joyce and David both give eulogies. when it comes to my turn, I notice a blue butterfly fluttering away from your coffin, resting on a branch near a translucent doe. I try to speak, but no sound comes out.

fast forward a few months, and I have just graduated from Blackwell at the top of my photography class. Victoria is not happy. I speak to her, and grudgingly, we put our rivalry behind us.

almost two years later, I am well on my way to becoming a professional photographer. I haven't heard from anyone from Arcadia Bay in ages. I still think of you every now and then, though it doesn't hurt as much anymore.

I stay in touch with Kate, Warren, and surprisingly, Victoria. we both live in New York City now, and we meet up regularly.

half a decade later, I fall in love with one of my photography subjects, and sometimes I have to remind myself that her eyes are grey, not blue, and her hair is black, not blue. not blue; not anymore.

30 years later, I am married and successful, always hosting art shows at one gallery or another. sometimes I do charity work, but most days I'm wandering around the city looking for small, special moments to capture with my camera. the same camera I've used, all these years.

my life is magical and wonderful and exactly how I dreamed it would be when I was younger. it is everything I have ever wanted, but it is not the life I want, not anymore, because you are not there.

* * *

 **day six**

I wake up feeling unsettled from the dream. I yank on my jacket, shivering from the cold. The sky is painted in deep shades of colour ranging from pink to orange, with similarly-coloured clouds swirling around. I check my almost-dead phone. around 40 minutes to sunrise.

You are still fast asleep, curled up on your side in your sleeping bag. I choose not to wake you up.

I grab my bag and sling it over my shoulder, pull on my shoes, and take a walk to the motel by myself. Some people are already up and about, and they greet me as they pass. The receptionist from yesterday is there again, asleep in his chair.

I slip in to the bathroom quickly to brush my teeth and run my fingers through my hair in an attempt to flatten it. For the first time in almost a week, I take a good look at myself in the mirror.

My brown hair falls into my face; I need to get it cut soon. Dark shadows shade the bottom of my eyes, and I look pale and tired. I look like I could die at any given moment, which makes me smile wryly. Oddly ironic, isn't it?

I sneak out of the bathroom, and the receptionist is still asleep. Though as I leave, I swear I hear him chuckle to himself.

I walk around aimlessly for a while, until in the distance I notice a beach. I check my phone. 20 minutes to sunrise.

I shove it back into my bag, and pull out my camera instead. As I walk down to the beach, I stop to take photos of the people and of town, keeping these stolen memories in my diary. Finally, I make it to the beach, and my first thought is, _this doesn't even come close to Arcadia Bay._

The thought makes my gut twist. I kick off my shoes and socks, and sit down on the sand, inhaling the salty sea breeze with my eyes closed. I raise my camera, get a few shots of the steadily lightening sky, of the colour rippling across the sea, but it doesn't feel right, somehow. I set the camera down.

I pull out my new diary, and clumsily glue the photographs inside. New memories, for a new town, with a new person. I am very much different from the person who wrote in that old diary. But I'm still Max Caulfield, and I'll always be Max Caulfield, even after all the decisions I have made.

"Hey." I look over and see you sitting down beside me.

"Hey," I say in surprise.

"Up so early?"

"I could ask you the same."

"I kept waking up at night. This sleeping bag shit isn't good for my back, or my sleep. Then I saw you were gone, so I went to the motel to look for you, but the dude said you'd already gone."

"So how'd you know I was here?"

"I had a feeling."

I smile. You wrap your arm around me, and I rest my head on your shoulder.

"Can I ask you something, Max?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Remember when you told me you didn't regret saving me? Are... are you still sure? Because things aren't going to be easy now. We don't have money, or anywhere to stay, or jobs, or anything at all." You pull the photograph we took at your house out of your pocket.

"I saw this at the motel we stayed at. And I thought I'd keep it, in case... in case you ever change your mind," you say softly.

"Chloe..." I pause. "I meant what I said. I don't regret it." This time when I say it, I know it's true.

"I told you you were my number one priority. I meant that too. If given the chance, I'd choose you again. I'll always choose you." I take a deep, shuddering breath. "Destroying Arcadia Bay is not something I'm proud of, and I'll always have to live with knowing I did that. But it's worth it, if it means you get to live."

You stare at me for a moment, your blue eyes blazing intensely.

"I love you, Max Caulfield," you say softly.

"I love you too, Chloe Price."

I turn my face towards yours and brush my lips against yours gently; a butterfly kiss. I shift myself so I can face you properly, and kiss you again. Your fingers slide through my brown hair as you kiss me, your movements gentle and loving. We break apart, and both of us smile shyly.

"Sun's coming up," you observe.

"Yeah."

"It won't be as good as the one in Arcadia Bay."

"Nope. Nothing can beat Arcadia Bay's sunrises, or waffles."

You laugh, and wrap your arm around me, and I rest my head against your shoulder once more.

"Where'll we go, Chloe?" I ask.

"I don't know. But we'll always be together, Max. Always," you answer firmly.

I link my fingers with yours, and I think of dream-Victoria's haunting question again.

 _Was it worth it, Max?_

As we watch the sunrise, you press a gentle kiss to the top of my hair, and I smile.

 _Yes. Yes it was._


End file.
